Nataraja
by Canadino
Summary: Men of gross vision contemplate on the abdomen as the spiritual center, while the sons of the sage Aruna contemplate on the cavity of the heart, the organ from which the veins and arteries branch out. Verse 18, Ch. 87, Shruti-GItA. Jack/Simon, AU
1. Brahmin

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

_Before one reaches enlightenment, one is in a state of samsara, or the cycle of rebirth._

[=]

The marketplace is dirty; the ground is unpaved, and animals roam freely through the legs of patrons. Children run amok regardless of business. Flies congregate toward rotting fruit, toward fresh meat, circling around a grimy pig's head. It is because it is the center of the common people that they come, the different lifestyle that makes it so different.

"This place is neat," Ralph says, his eyes wide as they have ever been, taking in his surroundings. The boy lives next door, is just starting to grow up and grow wiser. Having money has not made him ignorant of the plight of peasants, and reading about them has only prompted his curiosity. His parents are consumed with work pertaining to adults; the only one he knows around his age is Jack, so it is Jack he asks to accompany him on a trip to the village square.

"If you say so." Jack is sixteen, older by two years, much older than Ralph, who has both parents. He has inherited the estate, the house, the grounds, the responsibilities. He is learned in law to keep the property from unsavory hands. He knows what to say when to say it to keep friends and enemies. He is smart enough to know not to mettle with common folk affairs, but he is not smart enough to know how to say no to a persistent face. He only hopes the outing will be over soon.

He is painfully aware of how they stand out; his red hair and Ralph's shocking blonde are beacons in the midst of browns and darks. Villager and cityfolk clothes are simple and ordinary; their clothes give them aware to be wealthy, affluent, educated. They are simply too colorful to exist in a world of monochrome. Ralph does not know this. He does not know many things.

Ralph wants to see everything. He does not care if he soils his clothes trying to play with the children, who stare at him and marvel at the sight of the fortunate. He takes Jack to the stalls along the street, making easy talk with the vendors who easily see that this is not a bad child. Ralph buys a wood carving of a giraffe and a simple stone necklace with faded blue glass. Jack looks on, says nothing.

"You don't like it here," Ralph says simply, gnawing on a stubborn piece of dried meat. He offers Jack a taste and the redhead grimaces slightly at the strong spices. "You think you're better than them."

"You can't ignore the family you were born into," Jack replies coolly, sidestepping a black unidentifiable mass on the ground. Ralph ponders this, the meat in his mouth bobbing up and down as he nibbles. While they attract looks of wonder and contempt, no one dares to do anything about it. Ralph smiles at a girl selling flowers, who smiles back. He offers her a coin for a flower, half crumpled and missing a couple petals.

"They're just trying to survive, just like us," Ralph says, threading the stem through a buttonhole in his shirt.

There is a racket up ahead, but neither boy seem interested. They are about to reach the center of the marketplace, where the most people are congregated. Suddenly, the people part as a small boy runs through, pushing gently to create a path. His skin is a dark tan and the metal adornments on his clothing say that he is a gypsy. The gypsies live on the outskirts of the city, dancing and telling fortunes to the villagers for a living. They have traveled for a while, nomads that they are, but they have settled in local region for some time. While they are not on the level of the common house servant, they are hardly much better than the ordinary farmer.

"Make way, please!" he calls, glancing behind his shoulder to see a pair of burly men calling to him and looking quite menacing. "Excuse me!"

Turning back around forward, he collides into Jack and Ralph, a tiny weight that makes them stumble back slightly. "Get out of the way! Oh…" Seeing as Ralph and Jack are rooted to the spot in surprise, the boy pushes them farther from the center of the city and drags them with him as he runs. Ralph instantly catches on and runs with him, although Jack looks back at the men. They do not look happy, and this boy is a gypsy. Taking those two in account, along with the package the boy is clutching, he can deduce that this gypsy is also a thief.

"Hold," he tells the boy, who glances at him with dark eyes. "You can't run away if you've taken that." He points to the package. "That's stealing."

"Hush up!" Ralph calls, before the boy can say anything. "Over here!"

Taking a sharp turn around a building, they squeeze into an alleyway, stepping over sewer rats and bags of abandoned garbage. Ralph pushes the boy next to a particularly big bag of trash and sits down on the wet ground next to him. Jack reluctantly kneels, looking out to the street as the two men on the chase run by them.

"That was close!" Ralph says triumphantly. "Good thing we had me!"

The gypsy boy looks at him, then at Jack. His loose hold on the package reveals he does not view them as threats. "Who are you two?" he asks, curiosity getting the better of his sudden shyness. Although he looks wary, his eyes tell a different story - he is mischievous, and if they don't look out, Jack is aware, they'll have their pockets picked too.

"My name's Ralph," Ralph says proudly. "This bore here is Jack. Why were those guys chasing you?"

The boy looks at him, before pulling the package closer. "They got mad at me for taking this," he says.

"You stole it," Jack insists. The boy turns to him indignantly.

"I didn't! It was just sitting on the side of the table and they weren't looking. If it was really that important, they'd be more careful! It's like anything people just leave outside their house. If they really didn't want people to take it, they wouldn't leave it unattended!" He tossed his head. "It wasn't my fault!"

"If it's not yours and you take it without consent, you've stolen it," Jack maintains.

The boy stands up, the metal bangles on his clothes clattering as they knock against each other. This boy is nothing special; perhaps not over eleven, he looks unsuspecting in ragged clothes with a lush white sash tied around his waist and over a shoulder, the noisy bangles attached. But he can be formidable, even when he is wrong. "Like you haven't stolen anything in your life!" he says. "Everyone knows the rich stole land from the poor and that's why they're so better off!"

Jack is about to retort something nasty when Ralph leaps in. "Don't worry about him, he's just a guy who doesn't know what he's talking about," the blonde says quickly, seating the spirited gypsy down. "Why don't you open it and see what's inside? I've wanted to know ever since you showed it to us!"

Shooting a glare over at Jack, the boy fumbles with the string tied around the brown package and unwraps the paper to reveal intricate jewelry; metal bracelets and exquisite, colorful beads. They are not the tacky jewelry the gypsies wear when they perform in the square, Jack is certain. It is obvious to whoever watches that they are stolen. But Ralph does not seem to know, or care, even. "Pretty!" he shouts, reaching for the elaborate beaded jade necklace. He tries it on his neck as the gypsy slides on the metal bands, much too big to fit on his small wrists. He stands and claps his hands to a sudden beat, the metal clattering noisily.

Gypsies, Jack is told, can do anything; they can fix anything, they can grow anything, they can foretell like no one's business. Villagers dislike them for these jack-of-all-trades abilities, claiming it steals business. But gypsies are not ambitious, or they would have taken over the market already. They are too carefree and loyal to the road to be tied to any market. But this boy is a dancer. It is clear by the way he moves, the way he steps and how he shimmies as if he is made of water. Ralph is clapping along, taken completely by the show, but Jack is careful. He has heard stories of gypsies seducing victims with their dances, only to leave them unconscious and stripped of all possessions. So far, there have been no reports in this city yet, but now could be a good a time as any to begin.

The boy locks eyes with him, and Jack knows why; their recent clash of ideals has marked him as a target. Clearly, he is too high-strung and self-important for this gypsy to leave him alone. The boy dances up to him, humming a tune that is unfamiliar to the redhead, who has heard many musical pieces before. Ralph laughs and eggs him on; the boy twirls on his heel and suddenly has his hands on Jack's shoulders and is leaning down to…

"Oy, get off!" The boy laughs and easily deflects the motion, not tripping in the slightest as he dances away, turning so the sash with the bangles (probably stolen, Jack thinks meanly) flares up. Ralph glances over at Jack and raises his eyebrows before standing up and bowing, a grin on his face. The boy laughs, a tinkling sound like the bangles, before taking Ralph's hand and easing into a fast foxtrot.

It seems the sayings are true; gypsies do know how to do anything.

"You dance better than all the girls I've danced with!" Ralph laughs, turning the boy around. A look of realization dawns on his face and he stops for a moment, with the boy dipped down. "I don't even know your name!"

"Simon," the boy laughs, and the two continue their improvised dance as Jack grumbles to himself. When the two are finally done with their silly dance, they sit down and talk as if they have been friends all this time. Jack wants to leave, but Ralph will probably not go willingly.

"Where do you live?" Ralph asks.

"Outskirts of town."

"If you dance, what do your parents do?"

For a moment, the smile on Simon's face fades. He looks down at the crumpled paper from the package and pokes it with his shoe. "They're dead. They caught the sickness a couple years back."

Ralph looks at Jack over the boy's head and gives him the pointed _just like you_ look. "So you live by yourself? That's not safe!"

"There's another boy who doesn't have parents," Simon mumbles, suddenly withdrawing within himself. "He makes sure I'm okay."

"Where is he?"

Simon looks up at Ralph. "He told me not to come here today 'cause it's the harvest festival and there was going to be a lot of people who would see if I took things. Gypsies aren't allowed in the square during market time because they all think we'll take things." He glances at Jack with a defensive look in his eyes. "But I didn't want to stay at the camp. No one teaches me new dances during festivals and all the adults are busy."

"Are you happy?" Ralph asks. "At the gypsy camp, I mean."

"I don't know. We're all close-knit but no one pays attention to kids except their parents. Roger's getting older so he can't spend too much time with me anymore." Simon sighs and rests his head on his knees. "It's a little lonely," he admits.

Ralph looks at Jack again, and the redhead has known Ralph enough to know this look is dangerous. He opens his mouth but Ralph beats him to the punch. "Guess what? This loser here doesn't have any parents either. He lives in a big house all by himself! I bet you could go stay with him, if you wanted!"

Simon looks up at Jack too, a frown on his face. "Why would I want to stay with Jack?"

"I would let you stay with me, but my mom might not say yes. But Jack's got nothing to do! And he liked your dance, right?" Ralph elbows him with a suggestive smirk. "You _liked_ it, right?"

"What are you talking about?" Jack snaps, feeling his face heat up. He will not be like Ralph. He is the responsible adult in the house. He cannot be going around feeling soft to whoever dances sweetly.

"See?" Simon turns away, obsolete in keeping his eyes on Ralph. "I should have known that a rich man's heart has no room for charity."

"What?" It was just a provocation. Simon just wanted to get him riled up. "What do you mean by that?"

"It's exactly how it sounds," Simon says, snapping his head so his dark eyes flash to Jack. "You live all by yourself, so you must think you're king of the house! Well, I don't want to live in a place where you think you're better than me. And you probably would try and have control over me! No way!"

"That's not…!" Jack feels the anger bubbling, fueled more by Ralph's amused expression. He makes a motion to grab at the boy when tall shadows invade their alley. The two bulky men are back, and they have found their prey.

"Boy!" Simon has no time to scamper away when the men grab him and pull him to his feet. One has a cudgel in his hand, while the other has a dagger in a hilt around his waist. "The festival and its celebrants have no tolerance for petty thieves!"

"Let him go!" Ralph shouts, standing up. While the necklace Simon stole is still around his neck, the men do not call him out on it; clearly, he has more power than they do. But they will not be bossed around by a boy who thinks himself a hero; they are still adults, after all. "If you want the necklace and stuff, have it back!" He takes the necklace from his neck and throws it back into the paper, which he hands to the men. They take it, but the one with the dagger keeps his hold on Simon's arm.

"The punishment for thieves during festivals, when everyone is off guard, is death," he sings, as Simon winces at the tightening grip. "Not even your pretty face can save you, not if you live with a bunch of degenerates who cannot fight to save you at all!"

"They're not degenerates!" Simon shouts, but cries out when the men pull him into the street. "Let go of me!"

"Stop!" Ralph tries again, but Jack rises to his feet and collects himself to his fullest height. Instantly, he looks older and the men stop. It is Jack's voice who carries more weight.

"Let go of him. He's from my house."

"From your house?" the dagger man asks skeptically, eying Jack's pale skin and light hair. The man with the cudgel grunts with agreement.

"He's a stable hand. I heard he had escaped early this morning. Probably decided to muck around the festival area, right?" Simon looks at him incredulously for a moment before nodding and playing his part. "Let him go. I will decide the punishment. For now, I will give you back your stolen goods and a little reimbursement for your trouble." He knows the men are wondering why they were found huddled together in an alley and answers this while grabbing Simon, who is released reluctantly by the dagger man. "I was trying to get him to tell me who he had taken the package from without attracting too much attention." Slipping the bracelets off Simon's wrists, he hands them back to the men with a couple gold coins. "Apologize."

Simon skirts behind Jack, clutching at his shirt. "Sorry," he says, sounding meek but looking begrudgingly at the men from behind the folds of fabric. The men collect their rightful belongings and shoot a look at Jack.

"Take better care of your whelp," cudgel says, looking dismissively at them as they walk away. "We don't want to deal with any more of their thieving kind, no matter where they come from."

Jack feels Simon tense behind him and puts a hand on the boy's head in warning. Ralph comes up next to them and sticks his tongue out at the retreating men's backs. "What jerks," he says, before turning to the other two with a wide grin. "But that's that! Did you hear that, Simon? You're living with Jack now!"

"I never said that," Jack sputters, letting go of Simon, who darts up in front of him. "I just didn't think it was fair for a child to be killed for something so little as stealing…!"

"That's not what you said at first," Simon reminds him with a coy smile. "And they weren't going to kill me. They won't waste money on an executioner over a kid like me."

"Jack can be real nice when he's not being a jerk!" Ralph adds.

"Stop making fun of me." Jack clears his throat. "But…it seems that you'll be up to trouble if you stay here. If…if you _want_ to, you can stay with me. For the good of society." He couldn't afford to take in every stray he saw, but he could raise this young one to be respectable and law-abiding. He had no interest in the boy otherwise.

Simon sneaks a peek at Ralph, who is silent (he knows not to push Jack or else Simon might not have a chance!). He gives the gypsy boy a small nod, unnoticed by Jack. "Alright," he says, "I'll come home with you. But only because you'll be lonely all by yourself!"

"Hmph. Say more like that and I'll reconsider." He acts as if he doesn't notice the way Simon snakes his hand into his and how Ralph nods knowingly at him. For now, he will take it one step at a time on this new path. Everything will go smoothly if he takes it slow.

[=]

_Nataraja_ – Hindu god of dance; danced the dance of death for Brahma to bring about a new world

_Brahma_ – god of creation

Note: Note the fail not-India AU. I shouldn't be AU-ing. I shouldn't be 3-shoting. STOP ME.


	2. Indra

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

_The path to enlightenment involves many sufferings and denials of desires._

[=]

Simon remembers when he used to think the house was big. That was before, when he was only still a street wanderer, when he was taken to Jack's house. He did not know ceilings could reach that high; that there could be so many windows in a house. He remembers crying, wandering the hallways because he could not find his way out of the maze of corridors and rooms. He remembers days when he would not come face to face with Jack, from the fact that he could not find the boy in the large house.

Those are memories two years old.

Jack, he used to think, is someone who cannot be bothered; he will be all business all the time and he will not tolerate any sort of childish behavior. He is straight-laced and boring and will not entertain you; he will expect you to create your own friends and play by yourself. This was fact for a while, as in the beginning, Jack had rarely any interest or contact with Simon for a majority of the day save mealtimes and bedtime, where he would make sure the younger boy was tucked in and in bed before retiring himself. He had been adopted and solely there to have a roof over his head. It would have been better to have stayed on the streets.

But that is not so; when Jack finds Simon poking at the keys to the grand piano in the parlor, instead of scolding him as expected, the redhead gestures for Simon to scoot over and begins playing. To a eleven-year-old accustomed to the simple tunes of voice and tambourine, Simon is enraptured, staring as the formerly unfriendly fingers whip up a storm of melodies. A part of him feels like dancing but he does not want to interrupt the music so he sits placidly next to Jack.

"I can teach you," he says.

Simon thinks, then shakes his head. "I'm a dancer."

"Then dance."

So Simon dances. And in between dances, Jack teaches him to read, write, do arithmetic, how to behave in a house. He cannot just clamor around the banisters like a little monkey. He cannot jump from the second story ledge to the ground floor. Jack does not expect him to erase all traces of gypsy heritage from his being; just to act as one should act in a civilized household.

(Simon secretly still thinks it's easier to jump and does so when Jack is not looking.)

Living in the house is fun, Simon thinks. Different from the streets. He does not need to fear dirty looks, and the servants are more than happy to help him find his way through the house. The cook is a kindly woman who knew Jack's parents; she tells him about them.

"Let's see…Mrs. Merridew is where the master gets his hair…she had a long tress of fiery red hair. Such a beauty. She was loving and kind to her son, but a very strict woman. Believed in knowing one's place, she did. But she was compassionate and didn't want knowing one's place to mean being ignorant and arrogant of everyone else." The cook claps the flour from her hands. She has discovered that Simon is quite adept in the kitchen, despite his tendencies to overload a dish with flavor. She lets him cook when he is bored or is trying to escape from Jack's lessons. "Mr. Merridew was rarely home, but when he was, he and the master spent time doing father/son sort of things…such a shock when they caught the disease…no one expecting the master to be alone at such a young age."

She tells Simon he must look out for Jack, as the redhead believes himself to operate solitarily. There are others who care for him, she insists, and he will not listen to any of them. "It is good you came," she says, making Simon wipe his hands before letting him bring the tea to Jack. "He needs someone to look out for or he would have worked himself to death."

Jack acknowledges his presence with a mumble and leaves Simon to pour the tea next to him. Simon does not quite understand why Jack works so hard; he may be young, thirteen to Jack's eighteen, but he knows enough that youth is a blessing. Back at the camp, the old women reminded him that dancing will only come to him for a short amount of time; until his joints grew rusty and endurance drained away, he should dance and live to his heart's content. Jack cannot be happy cooping himself in an office all day. Signing papers, making calls, meeting with adults about the company Simon knows little about. The only joys, Simon supposes, is traveling; Jack takes him along on trips, but the trips are for business.

"Jack. Stop working and come have tea with me."

"Yes, in a moment."

Jack did not wear those reading glasses when Simon first came to the house. He has earned them after nights of hard work. But Simon doesn't think of them as a badge; only old people wear glasses. Mischievously, he reaches over and nimbly plucks them off the bridge of Jack's nose. Quickly dancing out of arm's reach, he sticks out his tongue. "These can't be good for your eyes," the dark haired boy says, placing them in front of his own eyes as Jack leaves his seat to reach him. "Everything is blurry."

"They'll be bad for your eyes if you wear them without needing it," Jack says, reaching his hand out just as Simon darts away. He chases him around until, finally, Simon perches the glasses on his nose and holds up a teacup.

"I'll give them back if you have tea with me!"

Jack sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Alright," he relents, somewhat begrudgingly. "Just take those off and put them on the desk."

Cook is right; Jack does look better if he is around. The color goes back in his cheeks and he is more animated – and more so when Simon remarks on the blandness of the conversation and although Jack may be smart in other areas, he cannot be sociable. When Jack laughs and talks, Simon thinks it is a good thing; better to be himself than the polite, reserved adult he tries to paint himself as being. "Why do you work so hard?" he asks, bringing the smooth china up to his lips as Jack watches.

"I'm continuing my parents' work," Merridew says, taking the tea straight with no milk or sugar. The adult way, Simon thinks sarcastically. "And I don't want to disappoint the people I care about."

"I won't be disappointed if you didn't work all the time."

"Who said you were one of the people I cared about?" Jack laughs as Simon pouts, puffing out his cheeks. "I don't keep you for your company than your dancing."

"See if I dance for you ever again," Simon retorts. "I dance for Ralph then; just for Ralph." He sees Jack's face darken for a moment and knows he's hit a sore spot; although Ralph maintains that he and Jack are friends, Simon knows that Jack considers Ralph more of a rival than a friend. While Jack is older and more influential, Ralph has more connections and potential. He has parents that can help him branch out and remain a safety net, while Jack is stuck in a position whether he likes it or not. It doesn't matter what it is, Jack hates to lose to Ralph in anything.

"Ralph is not the one giving you those clothes on your back." When Jack took him in, the first thing Simon saw go (besides the dirt scrubbed off him in that awful, long bath) was his clothes; no more was he dressed in rags. But while the clothes are replaced by similar easy-to-move-in albeit grander ones, he refuses to part with the shawl with the bangles. It was the gift of the head dancer. With customs, all gypsies who are dancers receive an article of clothing that marks them as who they are. He wears it differently; today as a scarf, other days as a sash, or a shawl, or like that one time in that one city, as a veil that convinced the inn owner that Jack had brought his little wife with him on business.

"He easily could," Simon says, taking one of the little pastries Cook set with the tea. "He likes me well enough to take me in."

"Maybe he should," Jack grumbles, looking finished with the topic. "Take a load off my back, that's for sure." Sometimes Simon doesn't know if he means it, but he figures he doesn't when Ralph comes over later and asks to borrow Simon, adding _Maybe you should just let him stay with me since you barely spend time with him_ and Jack scowls and later asks the raven-haired boy to take a walk with him in the garden.

[=]

Jack has a library in the house. It is a large library with a vast amount of books in it. The books have a lot of things in them, like history and science and math and stories. Simon likes to sit in the library by himself with a book. While Jack has only been teaching him how to read for two years, and he doesn't know all the words yet, he likes to trace over words he does know and look at the few pictures that come with the books. In this library with the big, squishy armchairs, Simon wonders what it would be like if he kissed Jack.

The thought crosses his mind as he peruses books that Jack calls 'stupid novels' because they are about star-crossed lovers and implausible happenstances. He only keeps them because his mother had them and she liked them. Jack would blush and act all embarrassed; Jack has always been prudish when it came to any sort of relationships. He is the sort to cover one's eyes when a couple kisses, and quickly change the subject when the conversation starts growing intimate. Would it be different to kiss Ralph? Simon ponders this. They would react differently, he is sure of this.

Books made it seem so inconvenient. There is always a big dramatic argument or confession before two people kissed. If it is so obvious that two people like each other, they should just kiss already! Simon further doesn't understand the big deal about kissing; at camp, they kissed in greeting and in farewell, and no one sugared up the act. But in the books, everything mattered; where one put one's hands, how fast they are breathing, et cetera, et cetera. To Simon, it seems like an obvious thing; if you care about someone a whole lot and there isn't words to adequately say what you feel, then a kiss is important. It doesn't have to be romantic. Simon believes in platonic kisses.

Imagining Jack's face after a kiss is funny. The way the redhead would sputter and act shy and young despite his eighteen years makes Simon laugh, shaking the book from his lap. He hopes whoever kisses Jack will come find him first before landing a big one on that boy's lips. Then he wonders what sort of person will kiss someone so unmoving and serious as Jack. He will have to make sure she does not ruin Jack's image.

And in the books, the kisses are always between a man and a woman. A boy and a girl. A girl would occasionally give greeting kisses to another girl before engaging in dull chatter, but a man would never kiss another man. There are also laws against gross indecency, in a faraway land, as Jack says during one of their history lessons. While it is not banned in their area, it is still frowned upon. Unorthodox, Jack used. It is unorthodox. That would make it funnier to kiss Jack. Someone had to knock all those law-abiding nonsense off that boy.

When Simon climbs back into the chair after picking up the fallen book, he notices a dark shape in the shadows of the tree outside, a ways down from the second story. Curious, he clamors out of the seat and climbs upon the desk pushed against the window – but the shape is gone. He is sure he did not imagine it, and he does not feel threatened. Telling Jack will just get Merridew in a rise. Maybe he will tell Ralph, next time he sees him. When he goes back to the chair and opens the book again, he has already forgotten the incident.

[=]

Jack has been teaching Ralph too, on the side, paid by Ralph's parents. A sixteen year old should learn how to take care of himself and the estate that he will inherit, they said. That means lessons and other rubbish that Simon is afraid will make Ralph work all the time, like Jack. But this is not so; after work, Ralph invites Simon over and they make a ruckus of themselves outside. Ralph's mother, while at first someone who is frightening, has warmed up to him and occasionally comments how Simon behaves better than her own son. Simon does not think Ralph's dad likes him very much, so that is why he never sees him. He will be lucky to get a grunt of recognition on any visit.

Ralph walks him home afterwards, pointing out birds he has learned about and badly imitating their song. "Isn't it cool to be able to sing like the birds?" Ralph says.

"Jack," Simon says, "have you ever liked a friend?" He means to ask about kisses, but thinks better of it; while Ralph is no Jack, he does not think it would be any more fruitful to mention. And he is thinking about this anyway; in stories, childhood friends usually end up kissing each other. It must be some sort of path. If you grow up with someone, you end up marrying them.

"Of course I do. You're supposed to like friends."

"In a different way, I mean."

Ralph says hmm in a loud way. "Well, I don't know. I haven't, I don't think. My parents take me to meet some girls from other families, but they're really not my friends. I don't think of them as my friends, anyway. And they're not very interesting. They like to talk about silly things like cakes and sewing. And any girl who wants to come out to run around with me isn't allowed. So, no, I guess." He is quiet for a moment before he turns to Simon with a grin. "Why? Have you?"

"Just wondering."

"Simon, if you fell in love with me, I would never break your heart."

Simon laughs and rejects him. While they joke with each other about the seemingly distant event called marriage and family, they come upon the Merridew household, where Cook seems anxiously waiting for them at the front gate. "Simon," she says, looking slightly relieved. "It is good you're back."

"Safe and sound!" Ralph says.

"There was a man looking for you," Cook continues, her eyes darting around. "Dark and scruffy. He was sneaking around the grounds, and Charlie caught him before he could escape." Charlie was the burly groundskeeper. "He wouldn't say why he was here, only that he was looking for you."

Ralph looks interested. "Who is he?" he asks.

"I was told to send Master Ralph back to the house with this message. The master foretold you would want to stay. He said, 'Don't stick your nose in things that don't concern you'."

Ralph scowls. "That sounds like Jack. Fine! I can tell when I'm not wanted!" Winking, he elbows Simon gently. "Tell me what happens, alright?" Simon watches him walk back down to his house, a couple minutes walk from the Merridew estate. He hears the blonde's snatches of whistle before Cook ushers him into the house.

"The master did not want you to know about this right now," she whispers, as if Jack has eyes and ears everywhere. "But I think you will want to know. He is…the man, that is…he is…like you." And Simon understands. The man is a gypsy, she is trying to say. If that is so, he thinks he knows who it is already. "They are sitting in the office. Be quiet! The master will not be pleased if he knew I told you this." Simon nods and sneaks off.

The office is a room with dark, hickory walls. Shelves line one wall, covered with tomes about law and order. There is a large desk, where Jack sits as he works. There are two couches where business partners usually reside. The man, a dark, shifty-looking gypsy, sits in one, while Jack faces him in the other. Jack studies this gypsy; he cannot be older than he. "You said you knew Simon from before?"

The man, who merely muttered, "Roger" when asked his name, nods. He is not one of words, Jack can tell. "I took care of him. He has no parents."

"You must have been the boy he was talking about then. Well, you don't have to worry about it. He's in safe hands with me now."

"Why did you take him in?"

"To put it quite frankly, he was going to cause trouble no matter how you look at it. Not to insult your way of living, but he does not have much of a future on the streets. He was just one of many; I didn't think taking him in would be much bother." Jack raises an eyebrow. "Has he been missed?"

"Of course, but it is not uncommon for gypsies to vanish. Sometimes they end up like Simon, hitching in with other fortunate individuals. Sometimes they are taken advantage of and left for dead. It took me a while to find him here. Have you not been letting him out much?" Roger's eyes are accusing.

"No, no, he's allowed. I guess he's never sought you out, then." Jack wishes he didn't sound triumphant. But what does he have to apologize for? Simon can make his own decisions. And if the boy wanted to go back to the gypsy camp, Jack hadn't stopped him. Roger falls silent and looks around the room, inspecting it.

"Do you use him?"

"Excuse me?"

"Do you use him? His body, I mean." Roger looks back at Jack, eyes dark. Jack flushes at the insinuation.

"Of course not! Who do you think I am?" Jack indignantly defends himself, as Roger looks amused. "He is a boy, and first of all, he's only a child! I don't know who you've been dealing with, but the men of the Merridew household have higher morals than that!"

Roger smirks. "I'm glad," he says, as Jack fumbles with the scotch he has poured and Roger has not touched. "It was one of my worries, as he grew up. He's quite adorable, if you haven't noticed." Jack coughs and the blush in his cheeks intensifies; much to his dismay, Roger acts as if he has not said anything embarrassing. "There are those sort of men in the city who would take advantage of him like that. There are gypsies who live like that, but no one in our group."

"I'm…I'm glad."

"And you can come in if you'd like, Simon. Part of this involves you." Jack turns to the door, which opens slightly as Simon slips in, looking hardly apologetic. "Your hiding skills have diminished somewhat if I can notice you listening in." Simon smiles nonetheless and runs up to Roger, putting his arms around his neck and kissing his cheek in greeting. Roger notices Jack's face change slightly into annoyance. "How have you been?"

"Fine," Simon says, sitting next to Roger. They exchange pleasantries and catch up on old times as Jack watches sullenly (he has been forgotten!). In a lull in conversation, Simon asks the question Jack wants to know. "Why are you here?"

"We're moving camp." Simon blinks. "I know you haven't moved once since you were born, but it's customary of our troop. We can't stay in one place for too long periods of time. We must hit the road after a while. I don't know where we are heading, but it will be farther away than the next town. I know you've been staying here for a good while, but after all, you do come from us. We may never see each other again, depending on where the wind takes us." Roger takes Simon's hands. "I'm here to ask if you'll come with us."

There is an awful silence after that.

[=]

There is a Romani saying that goes _akana mukav tut le Devlesa_, which roughly translates to _I now leave you to God_. Often said in funerals, it is a phrase uttered to a soul departing. It is leaving all one's well wishes to a higher power, in hopes that they will meet again.

[=]

_Indra_ is the god of heaven, war, storms, and rainfall.

_Romani_ is the typical language of gypsies (googled this).


	3. Lakshmi

**Disclaimer: The only thing I own is the story idea and only some of the witty remarks. I own so little; so please don't steal.**

Background music: -

_When one attains enlightenment, one escapes the cycle of constant suffering and enters into the light._

[=]

Simon sometimes has fantastical dreams of Jack._ The hall is grand, and would be even more spectacular if there is not a trail of bodies lying near the door, those who got in the way. The king, the dark skinned dark haired Roger, sits on the throne with a look of amusement and satisfaction. The armored hero, splattered with blood that is not his, stares at the throne through his helm. He nods off the headpiece and reveals a shock of red hair. _

"_Are you here to seize my kingdom?" Roger asks. _

"_Yes, and no," Jack says. "I am also here for the one behind the throne." Roger scoffs and stands, shrugging off the royal cape around his shoulders. "I believe you will have to defeat me first," he says, and Jack crouches with his spear at the ready. Roger fights with magic, an ancient breed of gypsy spells, but Jack is faster and mortally wounds Roger. _

"_He will never let you have the kingdom," Roger spits, before resting his head on the heap of cape, pressing a hand to the bloodied wound on his chest. Jack says nothing, nudges the ousted king with the tip of his spear and walks past him to the throne. The throne, a golden, ornate chair, looks heavy but Jack is able to knock it aside with a mere push. Simon, who has been hiding behind it, suddenly shoots forward, dagger in hand, but Jack shifts aside and catches his wrist. Pushing the struggling boy against the wall, Jack tightens his grip on Simon's wrist and leans down to catch the younger one's lips…_

Simon jolts awake, gasping, feeling his heart racing as he realizes some parts of him are more awake than others. He has to remind himself that he is sleeping alone, that no matter what, Jack is not right next to him, that the man is a couple rooms down the hall and does not know he is in his adopted stray's dreams in unusual amounts. He takes a deep breath, then another, and falls back into the mattress, closing his eyes and willing himself into a dreamless sleep.

[=]

"_Akana mukav tut le Devlesa_," Roger said, before patting him on the head and walking down the path back to the city. Simon remembers watching him go, still fighting in himself _to go or to stay_ but Roger never made it harder by turning around. Roger is really the strongest person he knows; when Simon decided to stay with Jack, Roger did not plead with him or guilt him into coming with him; the dark boy just nodded and paid his leave. In the five years since, Simon has not heard anything from his gypsy troop.

He supposes things could be different; he could be traveling with people like himself. He would not have to feel awkward when people visit the Merridew house and hear them ask Jack why he has a gypsy maid, and did he know that gypsies are known for stealing? They say this right in front of him, as if they think he cannot understand them. Jack reprimands them, and apologizes when they leave. Simon rarely sees them ever again either.

This morning, when Simon enters the dining room, Jack is already up; typical, as he is an early riser. Peering over the newspaper, he glances at Simon. "Didn't sleep well last night?"

Simon jumps, wondering if along with all the skills Jack has, if he has also acquired the ability to read minds. "Your eyes," Jack says, gesturing to his own with a fork. "You've got bags under your eyes."

Simon touches them, biting his lip. "Nightmares," he says.

[=]

When Ralph celebrates his twenty-first birthday, the age when he can finally acquire his family's inheritance, it isn't even two hours into the party where his father is proudly tell all who will listen his son's potential and his mother is busily chatting with the local wives when Ralph grabs Simon from near the back door and pulls him along outside. The crickets chirp as they make their way from the lighted patio and further along into the garden. "Need some air," Ralph gasps, pretending to be suffocated. "Can't breathe in that pompous place."

"I thought you'd be happy," Simon smiles. "You're finally old enough to do whatever you want."

"Maybe, but whatever I want seems to be nothing more than _work_." Ralph sighs, running a hand down his face as if he can wipe away his age. "I wish I was eighteen too. I could conquer the world."

"You're not old, Ralph."

"What did Jack get me? Probably some old people stuff." Ralph loosens the tight collar around his neck, as if it was really choking him. He shrugs his dress jacket down on a garden chair. "Finance books, long boring collections about old dead guys, a manual on how not to make mistakes…"

"Looks like you've hit the mark."

"You can't be serious." When Simon makes a solemn face and nods, Ralph groans. "No one can get me anything good. No pretty fiancées wrapped in ribbons or a boat to get away from it all." A smooth dance tune floats out from the balcony doors amid the chatter and Ralph perks up. "Hey, Simon, dance for me, will you? As a birthday present. Can you do that one you did when we first met? It's been my favorite one."

Simon laughs, thinking about how it was one of the most recent (at the time) dances he learned, the dance of engagement. It is usually performed by a potential wife and a potential husband. If their dance is good, it usually means they will be well suited for each other. He had not thought too much of it back then, since he hadn't really grasped the concept. But it is a harmless dance, and it is Ralph's birthday. He starts the steps and Ralph claps along to the beat. He is on tune and the music is helpful, but Simon cannot find himself falling into the rhythm. He blames it on the fact that he hasn't practiced this dance in a while; he has been focusing on the older, traditional steps he has learned from a visiting troop, who has only heard faint news about his old troop. His old troop has made gypsy headlines by accepting a pair of twin not of gypsy heritage, although they are learning quickly from a certain young man. Simon smiles to himself, knowing it is probably Roger. Roger was always one with teaching.

"So this is where the two of you were." Jack strides toward them, drink in hand. The annoyance in his voice does not seem to be picked up by Ralph, but Simon can tell Jack has spent a while trying to look for them. He is standoffish and scowling and it throws Simon off a few steps. Simon turns his attention back to Ralph, who rolls his eyes. He spins on his heel and rests his hands on Ralph's shoulders, meaning to say _happy birthday_ because, although that is why is at the party, he hasn't actually said so. But Jack suddenly pulls him away, making him trip over his own feet.

"What was that about, Jack?" Ralph pouts.

"You are now old enough to know better than to keep doing childish things," Jack chides, his voice taking on an abrupt dangerous quality. "You can no longer go around kissing the next door neighbor anymore."

"That wasn't, we've never," Simon tries to say, but Ralph makes a spiteful face at Jack. "Who I kiss is my business!" Ralph shouts, mischief on his face to rival Jack's irritation. "And it's finally out; yes, I've been kissing Simon in secret when you haven't been looking!" He rushes forward, pecking Simon on the cheek before Jack can stop him. Sticking out his tongue in a move that clearly understated his age, Ralph grabs his jacket from the chair and runs back into the house. "I win!"

Jack is griping his shoulder so tightly Simon is afraid it might go numb. While on any other occasion, he would have joined in the teasing, Jack's face is dark even in the cover of night. "I haven't ever kissed Ralph, you know," he says quietly.

Jack is quiet for a long time before he says, "Good," in a tight, terse voice and lets go, never looking down at Simon, and stalks back to the house. Simon does not follow him, and stays in the garden for the rest of the night, staring up at the stars and thinking of how Jack pulled him back.

[=]

"Ralph, do you ever think about Simon?"

Ralph looks up from the business papers Jack is going over with him. The blonde has noticed the redhead is distracted today and does not tag along snide comments whenever he makes mistakes. In fact, Jack has not really been talking at all. So when Jack interrupts him, it's a surprise.

"What do you mean? Of course I do, he's my friend." Ralph pauses. "Are you still upset about last time? I told you you were overreacting."

"No!" Jack snaps his bit so Ralph considers the conversation over and turns back to his paper. However, he does not get three words written when Jack pipes up again. "It's just…it's probably nothing. I live with him and all. But I just think about him sometimes." Jack seems genuinely baffled. "He comes with me on business holidays but I worry when he's not with me. Last time, some scum thought he came from a brothel."

"Hmm," Ralph hums. This isn't exactly the story Simon told him. According to the boy, some men had been nice and bought him pretty things. He had told them about himself when they asked and said they knew a couple of gypsies on the other side of town, and he should go meet them. Jack had appeared and spoiled his fun. _Paranoid_, Simon said, but Ralph doesn't think Simon is too angry about the matter.

"He still dances, you know."

"I know."

"Sometimes when I watch him dance, I…" Jack trails off listlessly, staring out the window in a very uncharacteristic lackadaisical expression. Ralph wants to poke him with his pen but that would ruin the mood. Jack would close up and it's been a while since Ralph has seen his neighbor so open. "I sometimes forget myself."

_Ho hum_, Ralph wants to say. What else is new? Simon is a brilliant dancer, after all. But he thinks Jack sees this differently. "It's a bit surprising, you know, since he was such a brat when he was younger." Jack sighs, as Ralph watches him. "I mean, I knew I could change him, but who knew I was this good?" There is pride and arrogance in his voice, but Ralph has known Merridew enough to detect a note of affection.

"What's the problem?" Ralph asks, reverting back to the original question. Jack himself seems to have forgotten but quickly blinks and nods.

"Just…have you ever thought about someone so much? During the day, during work, somehow my thoughts always wander and they wander to him. If he's with me, I want to know what he's thinking. He can be very obstinate. You can't always tell how he feels by how he looks. He's like…" Jack frowns and thinks of a word to describe it. He muddles through his mind silently. "…a younger brother. Right?" Ralph doesn't know why Jack looks at him for verification. How would he know? And frankly, this nice Jack is very strange compared to normal Jack.

"He's too young for you," Ralph says instead, and Jack flushes and huffs and tells Ralph to get back to work.

[=]

Simon thinks he's been in every room in the Merridew estate, but once, he stumbles upon a room he can't recall. Perhaps this is one of the rooms which has its door closed all the time; Simon does not enter rooms that are closed. Jack told him when he first arrived that there are storage closets and other miscellaneous areas that he doesn't want the boy poking into. But the door is ajar and Simon pushes his way into the room.

There is a dusty smell that suggests the maids have been in the room to keep it in good condition. It is a grand room, with large paintings on the walls and an ornate bed that looks untouched for ages. Simon runs his fingers across the gold embroidery and looks up at the portrait across from the bed. It shows a confident – almost cocky – looking man standing next to a woman who is seated. The woman has flaming red hair that falls gently down her back. This must be Jack's parents' room.

He knows he shouldn't pry but Simon wanders anyway. There is a fluttering thing over at the closets. In the crack, a snatch of white fabric peeks through. Opening the closet door slowly, Simon catches the mass of white that falls out at him. It is a flowing white garment that someone has forgotten to put back on the hanger. Upon inspection, Simon thinks it is a wedding dress. The maids must have been playing with it and quickly stuffed it back in the closet when they heard Jack coming. When Simon shakes it out, he stares at it; it's really nothing more than a robe, really; the sash that comes with it is discolored and there are beads that still cling to it for dear life. The floor of the closet holds their friends, all of them dull in the shadows. Somehow, the dress itself has remained angelic and pure, made of shimmery fabric. Perhaps it used to be for a woman, but age has turned it neutral, as the adornments and embellishments are gone.

Simon thinks it is quite fitting to dance in.

It is a dress of a dead woman's, but as Simon glances guiltily up at Mrs. Merridew's picture, he thinks she won't mind. The teasing smile she has in her picture suggests she was not very serious about everything, regardless of what Cook said about her. Maybe he was trying to explain him putting on the white robe, but it's too late to feel anything now. He spins, and performs some footwork; but the outfit is perfect.

Something gauzy falls away, a part of the dress that was not really part of the dress. Simon picks up the veil and laughs. Gypsies of old used to wear veils sometimes, although it wasn't common practice anymore. He clips it in his dark hair anyway and chuckles.

"I will never understand the wealthy," Simon muses aloud. "Wearing such silly clothes to get married in and never wearing them again." In his gypsy group, the girls were given a beautiful new outfit to wear on their wedding day, always decorated with the branch of the family they were getting married in. It was useful for the rest of their days. But those with money always wanted an excuse to spend it, he supposes. He turns himself around in the mirror and catches Jack standing in the doorway.

"Oh!" The veil makes everything hazy in his line of vision so Simon cannot tell if Jack is upset. "I'm sorry, the door was open…" Now Jack is walking toward him, and he gets defensive. "But really, I don't see the big deal in hiding this room, if it was your parents', _I _would have used it to remember them by." That really doesn't explain why he should be allowed to wear the dress, though, so he falls silent when Jack walks up to him. He gulps and prepares himself for a talking-to.

But Jack doesn't say anything. The veil is too translucent to really see through. He really hopes Jack isn't mad at him but the silence is unnerving. Simon opens his mouth to speak but Jack makes a movement and lifts the veil over his face, slowly, like how Mr. Merridew did, Simon thinks. Simon glances his dark eyes up and hopes to see no malice; Jack's blue are dark and conflicted.

Jack has always been taller than him (no matter how much Simon stretches and dances, he cannot seem to shoot up more than Jack's chin), but suddenly, the redhead's mouth seems to be moving closer and just like that, Jack leaves the room. One moment he's there, the next he is gone. Simon gulps. He knows his face is flushed and reaches up to cast the veil over his face again.

[=]

Simon knows something is up when Jack is out of the blue interested in his mail. From across the table, Simon smells a whiff of jasmine as Jack opens a creamy envelope. "Who's that from?" Simon asks curiously.

"Claire," Jack says dismissively, perusing the letter. Simon can see curly script through the paper. "Ralph introduced me," he continues to Simon's unspoken question. "Sister of a friend of his." Jack makes a face. "I don't like the friend though. The only negative of the whole ordeal. _Pygmalion doesn't want me to write to you, but what can he do, I am his twenty-year-old sister! He can't tell me what to do_." Jack shakes his head from the excerpt. "Fat little annoyance."

"Why…"

"It really is around the time I should be settling down," Jack muses, folding up the letter again and putting it back in the envelope (with such delicacy, like he was dealing with the woman himself, Simon thinks spitefully). "I have been so absorbed in the family business so I haven't been getting out much. Ralph's mum thought it would be a good idea."

"Do you like her?" Simon asks, finding that stabbing his eggs is a very good exercise.

"She's very nice," Jack nods. "Pretty, airy thing. Nothing like her brother. I can't believe they're related." He smiles, staring at something in the air. "I've only met her once before, but I think she would make a very good wife. She was at Ralph's party."

Simon regrets having stood outside for the rest of the night.

From then on, Simon wants to intercept the mail but he never knows when she will write, and anyway, it is none of his business who Jack wants to marry. It isn't Ralph's fault she wanted to sink her claws into Jack. He wants to inquire about her to Ralph, but he fears the blonde may misunderstand (and tease him if he _does_ understand). Anyway, there's nothing he can quite do, being a boy, an adopted gypsy, and in Jack's own words, a _little brother_. He settles with sneaking into Jack's office when the man is out and reading the secret stash of letters.

All in all, they are rather mundane; discussions about the weather, about their pasts, about life…nothing romantic yet. Simon thinks this might turn out to be another pen pal sort of thing until the letters start smelling sweeter and flower petals are included in the envelopes. There is suggestions of futures together, but it seems Jack is too dense to see this because the letters only skit around the subject. He wishes he can be there when Jack is penning a reply, but that is one of the only times the redhead locks everyone out of his office.

Finally, about a month later, a letter comes by again and it is terse and honest. _Jack, darling,_ it reads, to which Simon makes a face, _I would like to speak with you face to face. My parents have given me their blessing and if it not trouble you, may we discuss a possible marriage of families? I know this is sudden, but I believe we are meant for each other and I love—_

Simon closes his eyes and opens them again closer to the bottom of the page, where there is an address and an invitation for dinner. The date is closing up soon. No wonder Jack has been trying to finish all his business lately. The maids themselves seem to sense this as well, as they seem gossipy and fresh as of late. Simon consults Ralph.

"Claire? Hmm…well, you know Jack. He was standoffish and was still grumpy, but he was cordial to her. I think she took a liking to him, though, cause she asked me if it would be a good idea to write to him…Piggy – ah, Pygmalion, whatnot – doesn't like him very much but I doubt he can make her change her mind…ah, Simon, what's wrong? Are you alright?"

"Do you think he likes her back?" Simon bites back, sounding emotionless.

"Hum…hard to say. He's only really spoken to her once and he never brings her up in conversations with me. I mean, I just found out from you that they're going to have dinner together! I guess he could, but he like I said, he hasn't spoken to me about it…"

"He doesn't speak to you about a lot of things."

"Ouch. True, but I think he would have told me if he wanted to get married. Probably all business, you know! Jack always thinks things through to the end. He isn't going to get married to her if it isn't going to work out."

"He said it was time for him to settle down."

"Well, yes…"

Jack remains professional the next few days but when the evening comes up, he cannot hide his anticipation. When Simon visits his room, Jack is still rummaging through his closet, in gray slacks and white shirt. "Simon," he says when he sees the boy enter. "Maroon or navy?" He holds up two overcoats.

"Neither," Simon says, and Jack turns back to the closet.

"I never know what to wear to things like this," Jack mutters into his closet. "Can't be too casual, but overdressing makes me look too serious. I don't want to blow this chance. It's always good to marry. Not that you would know, but I'll find you a wife soon." Plucking out a green jacket (which he thinks looks great on him), he turns back to get Simon's opinion and finds the boy is standing right behind him. Before he can get to asking if the jacket is a yes, Simon presses into him and kisses him.

"I don't care what you wear," Simon hisses, the force in his voice Jack has only heard when the gypsy is truly upset, "because I don't want you to go." This is about as far of a confession as he is going to get, because Jack knows Simon is just as reluctant about things like that as he is. Jack finds his head pulled down again as Simon kisses him again, and _where did he learn to kiss like this?_

_Please_, the kiss says. _Please_. Jack drops the jacket back in the closet and knows he should push Simon away, the boy is five years younger, and it wouldn't do for the head of the house to be kissing the stray! Instead, he wraps an arm around the boy's skinny waist and rests his other hand on Simon's neck and feels a purr of satisfaction in his mouth.

[=]

Ralph stops by, because Claire is worried because Jack is late. Can he reach him? If she goes, she might look too eager…so Ralph rings and Cook says that Jack was still preparing himself the last time she checked, but almost all the servants have the night off. Ralph rolls his eyes. Figures Jack would still be fretting over himself. Claire was over heels for him; she wouldn't care if he was dressed like an idiot.

Ralph remembers where Jack's room is, and climbs the stairs; no surprise, it is closed. When he nears it, he hears mumbling inside; again, no surprise Jack is talking through his outfit choices. He raises his fist to knock but he hears, breathless, _Jack_. It is Simon's voice. Ralph blinks, his hand hovered over the door. He can't quite hear what is happening, but he can deduct. He thinks if he tries the knob, it won't open, and he doesn't want to interrupt them anyway. It's about time! Jack has been dancing around the subject and Simon hasn't exactly been hiding how he feels. Ralph shrugs and slinks away.

Better for him, when he thinks about it. "He's caught up on something last minute and cannot make it," Ralph says, watching Claire's face fall. "I, on the other hand…"

_End_

[=]

_Lakshmi _– icon of wealth, prosperity, light, wisdom, fortune, fertility; in short, good ending

Note: Sorry this took forever. My last installments to any threeshot always take ages. But I hope you enjoyed me punching copious amounts of aw in this chapter. In fact, I was listening to Pandora while writing and New Found Glory's cover of Kiss me came on just as I was writing the end! Is this fate? Ha, you can use your imagination for the ending, but I can say confidently that Claire opened her eyes to Ralph. Yes, Claire is my OC and she's Piggy brother. Didn't see that coming, did you. Thanks for reading!


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